


To Lose It All Again?

by undernightlight



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Transphobic, M/M, Napoleon just wants Illya to be happy, Trans Character, Trans Illya Kuryakin, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: Illya Kuryakin was prepared to take his secret to the grave, but he couldn't stop Napoleon from walking in.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 136





	To Lose It All Again?

**Author's Note:**

> Could be read as romantic, could be read as platonic, either way, its' cute.

Illya Kuryakin had never told anybody his secret. People knew, the few, necessary people knew, but that was it. He'd thought about telling Gaby, but the words would never leave his mouth, and he wouldn't tell the cowboy until he'd told Gabby, that only seemed fair. 

At home, as a child, he hadn't been accepted. He'd been expected to conform to what society said, to what everyone told him he was supposed to be. Leaving home was easy. The next year on the street wasn't, but he survived - he was too stubborn to die. Joining the KGB was a logical step. He could tell they weren't on board but he knew his aptitude tests were flawless, so they let him train, and in three years, he was their best agent. They at least had the decency, or perhaps were just smart enough, to ensure his files read Illya as his first name. 

It never became much of an issue as an agent. Stake outs or long run missions were difficult, and extensive physical exercise was rough, but he was used to it now. In the earlier days, there had been a few occasions - not many, but more than one - where he'd collapsed or even lost consciousness, but that hadn't happened in a long time. 

He thought, as he got older, things would change for him, but he still had the same relationship with his body as he did when he was a teenager. He sounded like a man, looked like one, and though he knew he was a man, somehow he still felt deceitful. Learning to accept the way he was was not a journey he had ended, but he hoped he was closed

His secret was one he was prepared to take to the grave.

As he dressed that morning, he was unable to stop Solo from entering his room. The American had entered without knocking, already rambling on, but he fell silent when he saw Kuryakin, button-down on his body but open exposing his abs and binded chest. Illya froze, and so did Solo, feet coming to an easy stop, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slacken. 

"Peril…" he managed, but nothing else came. With a word finally spoken, it was enough to snap Illya back to the reality of what was going on, of what Solo had seen. 

"Get out," at first not loud, low and angry and vicious, but when it seemed that wasn't enough, he barked, "Get out!" He pushed forward, reaching Solo in three fuelled strides, turning the American around in his hands and pushing him out of the door. There were stuttered, confused sounds coming from Solo, but there were no coherent words before the door was closed and locked in his face.

Illya turned and leant back against the door, trying to keep his breathing steady. There was a knock on the door. "Peril, can you open the door?" He didn't answer. He closed his eyes and counted every inhale and exhale, spacing them evenly. "Come on Peril, we need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about." His voice betrayed him, breaking so clearly. He hadn't felt this vulnerable and emotional since he was a child. 

"I think we do, and I know you think that too."

"There is nothing you can say that I haven't already heard."

"And you're sure about that? I've surprised you before, I'm sure I can do it again." The American's tone was lighter, friendly, and though Illya wanted to smile, he found he couldn't. "Come on, open up...Illya please."

To hear his name come from the cowboy, he caved - when did he get so soft? He turned, unlocked the door and opened it just enough to pull it from the latch before walking away, buttoning his shirt as he went. He heard Solo's footsteps, the door closing, then shuffling feet. 

"Will you look at me?" Solo finally said after waiting for Illya to say something first, something that never came. Reluctantly, Illya did as he was told and turned. His shirt was buttoned, collar included, yet he still felt exposed. "Peril, are you hurt?" 

Of course that was the cowboy's first thought, seeing the bandages across his entire chest. He could lie, say he was injuring and he'd just been embarrassed by the severity of it. It would be easy to lie, and perhaps that would be all it took for Solo to drop the matter, but somehow, lying, for once, didn't feel right. Illya just shook his head, eyes downcast. 

"Then what?" Nothing. "Illya, I'm worried." 

"You have nothing to worry about." His jaw ached and his eyes stunk. He'd come to term with it, even if he didn't like it, but to have to speak it to someone was difficult. To speak to a friend, was near impossible; he was staring at what he was about to lose, yet, he didn’t want to lie.

“I am a man,” he said, finally turning to look at the American. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Solo with what was about to follow. "But...I was not born that way."

The cowboy was thinking, Illya could see that, but what he was thinking was a mystery; his eyebrows were furrowed, eyes flicking about across the room, and Illya couldn’t read his face and it was worrisome. This was an agony he had never felt.

Eventually, “Okay.”

Illya couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat. “O-okay?”

Solo nodded, “I mean, I can’t say I fully understand but I’m willing to learn, if you’ll help me out a bit.” His smile was warm and genuine, small and kind. That wasn’t what Illya was expected, and he didn’t know how to take it.

“I was not born a man,” he began to briefly explain, “I ran away from home because my parents did not accept it. I joined the KGB and trained. They put me on testosterone - they only cared about making me the best agent I could be, and so they had no objections. That’s it.”

Hesitantly from the cowboy, “And urm, your chest?”

“Bound flat with bandages. There are no Russian surgeons who will do what I ask.”

Solo nodded, still thinking. Illya didn’t like the silence, but what was he to say to ease it? He turned to the coffee table and picked up his tie, setting to work. Somehow he found straight ties much harder than bow ties, from lack of practise he suspected. Gabby had done it for him on their first mission - that seemed so long ago now - and a few occasions since. Every other time, he’d struggled by.

His fingers were trembling and the fabric slipped from his grip repeatedly. Frustrations were growing and reaching their threshold when a pair of hands came in to take over the work. How Illya had missed a man the size of the American coming up to stand in front, was beyond him. His hands dropped to his side as Solo neatly worked and did the tie, slipping it neatly under the collar.

“You really should learn to tie a tie,” Solo said, finishing up and running his hands along Illya’s shoulders.

“That’s all you have to say?” Hearing anything related to conversation was better than nothing at all, at least then he knew. As much as he hated the idea, he would leave U.N.C.L.E if he had to, if things were going to change. Illya liked the way things were now. For the first time, he had friends. He had a family now, one that he cared for and would do anything to protect, but he would also protect himself. He left a family once before because he was no longer safe there, and he would leave another family if that’s what it came to.

Solo sighed, looking Illya in the eyes. “I’ll be here if you need me, for anything and always. And this doesn’t change anything, alright? You’re still the same Red Peril to me.” Illya managed to chuckle at that, eyes clearing. "If you, you know, want surgery, I'm sure they'll be someone in the US who could do it." 

"You don't have a problem with the idea?"

He shook his head, "I only want you happy, regardless of anything else."

Illya nodded along, words lost. His interests were never anyone's priority but his. Hearing Solo speak with such kindness, reassured Illya that they both viewed each other as family, and that for once, he could be all of himself.

The cowboy asked, “Will you punch me if I try to hug you?”

“No.”

There was a pause. “Does that mean I can hug you?” Illya didn’t respond, but his eyes were soft and his features gentle. Solo took that as the closest he would ever get to a yes, and so wrapped his arms around Illya, and was relieved when Illya’s arms came around him without hesitation.

“Thank you, Napoleon,” Illya said, quiet, just enough to be heard, enough for the gratitude to be conveyed. 

U.N.C.L.E had become a safe space since formation, but he had always kept secrets. Now he had one less, and Napoleon was his safe space.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Man From U.N.C.L.E a couple weeks ago and it's been on my mind since. I really enjoyed it, the chemistry between all three of them was great and I love them! Honestly, I ship Illya/Gaby and Illya/Napoloen (Illya just needs to be loved), which is a little unusual for me, to ship the same character in a straight passing and gay passing relationship, but not unheard of I suppose.


End file.
